


Road of Coins

by OreoPromises



Series: Picture Prompts [2]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Blind Yoo Kihyun, Ghost/Spirit, Mentioned Lee Minhyuk, Mentions of Death, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 18:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12371631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OreoPromises/pseuds/OreoPromises
Summary: M





	Road of Coins

**Author's Note:**

> M

What a lovely day. At least it feels like it is. Whether the sun is shining or greying clouds dull it's undying brightness, I have no clue. And, to be honest, I don't care. Hot, clear, rainy, windy, each one as inconvenient as the next. I'm told that the sun on a clear day is spectacular. Then again, I've been told that it hurts to stare at it for too long. The price of looking at such beauty is pain? Especially when such beauty is on display, for all to see - well, some people. Many people, usually strangers at the local cafe or drunken acquaintances at bars, like to ask whether I'd wish to be able to see. My answer? Simply, no. I've lived my life up until this point as Yoo Kihyun, the unseeing and breaker of shins (seriously the amount of times my guiding stick has hit someone - not always by accident - is hilarious). The only reason for this is that I don't want to be disappointed. I know that the sky is blue and grass is green, but I don't truly know what that means and I don't think I ever want to. I have my own idea of colour. My own idea of what blue and green are. And if I were to see them now, I don't think my mind could fully accept them as they are. Another question I often get is if I would like to see my mother’s face, or the face of any children I may have. Again, no. I loved my mother without needing to see what she looked like. And, although I’m sure it would be nice to be able to _see_ them grow up, I will love my children all the same. Looks shouldn't define love. For me, attraction isn't towards how someone physically looks, but how brightly their personality shines. Mostly, my answer is no because I don't see the point of ‘what if’s or wishes. Honestly, I still find it crazy that visual people can focus on single sentences, made of multiple words, on a page. My brain would probably melt if it tried to do that, _if_ I could miraculously see tomorrow. _If_ I had to relearn my entire way of thinking. _If_ I had to be taught the same things children must learn. I love myself as I am now. I love life. What a lovely day.

 

Holland is fascinating. Hearing so many voices (although a _little_ scary at first) is incredibly refreshing. The variety of accents and languages makes this trip so colourful. I've been here for a day already, and I've become accustomed to the sound that flows through the street like it owns it, and it really does. I try not to get lost, especially when I'm somewhere unfamiliar, but it happens from time to time. My GPS phone app helps me most of the way, telling me where to go through my earphones, and I plan the trip thoroughly enough that I know exactly where I want to go next… However, the app can only get me so far, and then it assumes that I can read signs on buildings, informing me of what they are. How dare it assume such things? Please note, sarcasm. But, I should really get a better app… This calls for drastic measures. With guiding stick in hand, I made my first sentence of the day. I figure that it goes without saying, no one answers. The first few times, I don't expect anyone to answer. Luckily, a small child (I'm guessing - their voice seemed below my shoulder height and whinier than an adult’s) noticed me and mentioned my glorified lost self to an adult. They managed to help me - asking their fair share of questions upon realising my lack of sight - and I spent most of the morning at this sweet-smelling cafe. I guess that it should be time to leave, choosing to ask my phone for the time in which it responds with ‘eleven-fifty-two a.m’. I'm proud of myself for staying at one place for longer than two hours without getting bored. The coffee was worth staying for in itself, I don't think I've tasted anything better. But, the waitress was kind too. Striking up a conversation whenever she was free to, without interrogating me or acting like I'm not human. And so, I'm on my way again. Walking through the busy streets of this town, guiding stick lightly tapping ahead of me to avoid any unnecessary collisions and unneeded conversations.

 

They're here. I know they are. I can sense them walking alongside me, silent and isolated. They've been here for a while, that much I can tell. Everything else is a mystery. Who they are. Why they're here. These questions I choose to ignore for now, not wanting to bore the poor soul with a question being the first thing to roll out of my mouth. I don't think they know that I'm aware of them, none of them really know. They can hope that someone, anyone, will hear their voice but no one does. I'm sure this one noticed that a long time before I came along too, so silence it is. I, too, remain quiet. It's what I'm good at, being quiet. Listening. That's when I hear it. Singing. Quietly, yes, but it's there. Their voice, light as a feather and untouched by the rustling around us. Masculine yet so very gentle. I don't want to interrupt them, but I fear that if I wait too long then they'll move away from me and I'll be unable to follow.

“Lovely day, isn't it?” My own voice sounding scratchy in comparison to theirs. I go to repeat myself, as I always have to, but they speak up instead.

“Not really. The Sun has been hiding behind the clouds all day. Luckily, you don't have to see it like this and never have to know.” Even their speaking voice is soft, calming. I assume they've responded out of boredom, not expecting me to be speaking to them because, let's be honest, not many people will speak with those they can't see. Maybe that's what makes it so easy for me to do so.

“Thank you for telling me, ‘O Wise One.” I hope that's enough for them to realise that I'm aware of them.

“You can see me?” They sound shocked and quickly cough to correct themselves, amusing me greatly. “Sorry… hear me?”

“Sure can… What makes you walk out here, answering a lonely person’s questions?” I ask, happy that they continue to walk beside me down this path. I know that a few of them get startled and leave immediately, even the other side have their own superstitions and I find it hilarious. The living, fear of ghosts or black cats. The dead, fear of the living that can talk to them. I’ve earned my fair share of nicknames, since people like me come around every other century or so (at least that’s what I’ve been told by the dead and I probably believe them more than most of the living nowadays).

“Memories.” Is all the answer I get. Yet, why do I feel like it created more questions than it solved? Noticing my quietened curiosity, they expand on their response. “This is a path I used to walk as a child and contributed to its beauty that some people admire today.” I subconsciously lower my head, as if to examine the ground beneath my feet, and wonder why people admire something that sounds so… ordinary. It's no sun that lights the sky (although, we’re told that it's pretty hot on there, so thank god for that)

“What makes it so beautiful?” An innocent question that I'm shocked came out as intended, and not snappy or sassy as they usually do. They clearly contemplate how to describe it, for they begin to sigh and their steps have grown slower - showing their concentration on thinking. Which I'm flattered at, so many people just half-ass answers that don't truly answer anything. To have someone genuinely _think_ about how they're going to respond before doing so, is wonderful.

“During the making of this road, people came to place coins within it. Making it shine, which was so unusual to see back then. It was magical. Children came to make wishes as they placed their own coins into it, like I did.” They answer so sincerely and I can tell, in this moment, just how much this place means to him. It truly does sound beautiful.

“Why do people choose to walk over such beauty?”

“People stopped seeing the beauty in it a long time ago. With today’s sights and wonders, only some truly appreciate it now. Others just see it as something to be walked across. A convenience to them.” A thought comes to me that I can't ignore. One that I haven't asked of someone in so long out of pure reluctance. For it seems so pointless.

“Describe it to me.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realise that I'll probably regret it. I asked it so many times growing up that I have the description to many things in the world but I have no meaning for them and can't understand a single one. Describe the sky. Describe the sea. Describe red. Each one I can describe by what other people have told me, yet I understand none of it.

“The concrete is chipped from it’s age and many years of being stepped on. It’s grey, similar to the colour the sky is currently.” The ground beneath my feet is the same colour as the sky above my head? That in itself is fascinating. “The ground is broken into rectangular bricks, some horizontal and some vertical. This makes them look like they’re ascending diagonally from each other from where we’re facing.” I’m mesmerised by the way this person describes it, going over each word over and over again in my head. “The coins… Where to begin. They look like little stars littering the ground, trying to brighten up everyday life. Or like snowflakes that have already taken the journey to the ground. Where we’re currently walking across, is the most condensed amount of coins.” I stop walking, wanting him to continue while we stand in this cluster of stars. “They go out for about a foot in every direction you turn to face, you’re directly in the middle of the group. If you go about two feet to your left, you’ll cross a drain and meet the nest of brown coins. Just a small amount, not overpowering like the silver coins but leaves just the same amount of wonder as the rest. They’re small and so isolated, yet huddle together closely.” How much must this person relate to those little brown coins across the drain? Isolated. It confuses me again, how so many people just glance over this and aren’t taking the time to take it in. It’s just like standing in the sky, with the grey brick clouds and silver coin stars.

 

“What’s your name?” I realise that my voice must be quiet. I mean, after that description - so clear and genuine - I’m left utterly stunned.

“Hoseok… Shin Hoseok. But people used to call me Wonho.” He sounds like he’s smiling, his voice going a little higher which, in turn, causes myself to smile. “And you?”

“Yoo Kihyun. People usually just call me Kihyun. No cool nicknames here, unfortunately.” Wonho’s laughing now, such a sweet sound to here amongst all this chatter.

“I doubt that, greatly.”

“You’d be right to.” I chuckle, seriously beginning to like this guy. I think for a moment whether it’d be too insensitive to ask the next question on my mind… but then I follow that thought up with ‘fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen’? “So, Wonho, how’d you pass?” Before, his voice came from somewhere to the right of me. Now, however, it’s sounding from right ahead - a subtle change that I appreciate.

“Guess. It doesn’t bother me, so don’t worry.” He really sounds like he doesn’t care about it, another thing I appreciate about this guy. So many spirits get defensive or emotional whenever I ask this question, and then proceed to disappear without telling me they’re doing so (a real dick move, considering I can’t see them leave and continue talking to someone that I think is still listening). So many of the living also do it, it’s painfully irritating as it usually takes at least a few moments of my time figuring out that they’ve left. And in those few moments, I could’ve been doing something a lot more productive - like thinking about how much I hated that person.

“You’re an international spy that sold his soul to the Devil to prove just how good of a spy you were. But the Devil double-crossed you because your colleague, possibly an ex - to spice things up- had already sold _their_ soul to fuck you up, so the Devil took your body instead, leaving you here to roam the world without a body.” I say pretty much in one breath, totally making it up as I go along. I inhale and smile, what I’m sure is, a shit-eating grin.

“How did you know?!” He exclaims semi-seriously but immediately breaks out into amused laughter, his voice lowering slightly. Is he rolling on the floor? I’ve heard people say that they would roll on the floor while laughing, but I didn’t think it was an actual thing people did… I won’t question it - not here at least. “But, seriously, it was nothing as glorious as that.” His voice sounds at it’s usual height level, still shaking from the last ripples of giggles (could’ve used ‘fit of giggles’ but decided against it… I like to be unpredictable). “Just a simple horse carriage collision. As in the out-of-control horse collided with me, the little shit.” He says it very lightheartedly, and I’m glad because I can’t imagine his voice sounding sulky. “I don’t remember it hitting me, only me hitting the ground. I was in a coma for a little while, which I don’t remember anything from - no happy dreams or comforting voices. I woke up the day before and got to say goodbyes at least, some of us don’t even get that.” Wow, I’m happy he doesn’t seem to remember much about it because damn does that sound like it’d hurt. I’ve heard so many horror-like death stories that nothing can really surprise me now. Unless, of course, they were an international spy that sold their soul to the Devil… Probably too much of a leap, huh? I would like to think that if the Devil was real then he'd like to meet me - considering I get called the same thing so many times (by both the living and the dead). I’m not going to apologise for what happened to him - it’s pointless to. It won’t change anything and he seems alright about it, so why make it even more negative? “The worst thing is, is that I wasn’t even supposed to be there. I bet you've heard that one a few times.”

“Indeed I have. Continue though, please.” I'm genuinely curious about this man's story and how he came to exist in a world outside of this one.

“A friend of mine asked me to walk him home ‘cos he thought people kept following him. So I would, everyday, and sing to him. No one bothered Minhyuk with me around. It wasn’t until after I was gone did I see what he was talking about. I felt terrible and it wasn’t long until he was gone too.” Ouch, that’s pretty terrible. Again, Wonho keeps a calming tone to his voice but I can’t help but feel like he’s truly upset. Who was this ‘Minhyuk’ to him? I have a feeling that Wonho is from a time when certain relationships where taboo, which really is a shame. He speaks so fondly of this Minhyuk even in death, so I'm guessing they were really close friends. “I kinda kept doing it, even now. Walking with people that might have unwanted company and singing despite them not being able to see or hear.”

“What did you sing?” I try not to dwell on the negatives, instead focusing on what could be positive - in this situation, I opt for a song (not just because I want to hear his voice again… obviously). I’m not disappointed because it’s only a moment later that he begins to sing. Once again, I’m drawn into that sweet voice that would be able to lull even the unhappiest of babies. There’s a thought in my head... I feel like I’ve heard this somewhere before but I can’t pinpoint it exactly - not distant enough to be a childhood memory but not fresh enough that I was listening to it too closely… I choose to ignore the thought and just continue listening to his song, so true and full of emotion.

 

What a lovely day.


End file.
